Jeeves in the Closet
by sadiefoxx
Summary: One shot. Bertie and Jeeves argue over a necktie, only to realise there are more important things in life. First attempt at fanfic-ing (written a year ago before I even knew that was what I was doing :P)


**Jeeves in the Closet:**

** A Short Story Dedicated to K.H.**

It was a morning when one can feel the joys of spring like a trilling of a lark in the dawn. Life should have been looking rosy as I rang the bell to summon Jeeves post-haste with my morning fix of _café au lait _as my erstwhile French master at public school would say, though the stuff (which incidentally, when he drank it, had more than a slight whiff of gin wafting from its obsidian surface) seemed to addle his mind somewhat when faced with a morning with Bertram. Having recently, though barely, escaped the clutches of quite possibly the mother of Satan, you know, the one that spreads children on toast buttered with tears for an afternoon nibble, who goes under the odious disguise of Aunt Agatha, my heart should have been soaring like a feather caught in the winds.

But it was not. Frankly it felt as if the aorta was positively leaden, and I wished the bally thing would buck up a bit, as I had previously been engaged to vanquish Bingo Little at some competitive pastime or another at the Drones, and had been looking forward with relish to the occasion.

"Your morning libation, Sir"

I started as I saw Jeeves standing with a silver platter in his elegantly gloved hand at the foot of my bedstead, having appeared like a puff of smoke wafting through a vent.

"Must you always appear in such a surreptitious manner?" I exclaimed, pulling the covers up to the be-whiskered chin like a grandmother about to be munched on by a wolf.

"Sir?" Jeeves asked in an austere tone.

"Don't 'Sir?' me like that Jeeves. It gives me a sense of impending doom, as if I were that chappie who had his head lopped off."

"King Charles I, Sir?"

"Yes, that's the bloke. That's what happens when you're the type that likes all this sir-ing nonsense. It often means that there's someone nasty praying for your separation of head from body just around the corner."

I took a sudden sip of the coffee Jeeves had placed neatly on the old bedside t., aware that I was babbling more feverishly than the brook into which it had been my utmost pleasure to hurl a nasty young ragamuffin of a Lord's son in the otherwise sleepy and sickeningly charming village of Bachelor's Bump, Sussex.

"Perhaps it would not please you to hear that your Aunt Agatha called this morning, and shall be returning within the hour, Sir?"

I could feel the blood rushing from my normally perfectly well oxygenated face.

"Aunt…Aunt Agatha? _My_ Aunt Agatha? The vampire who devours her own young, escaped from her chainèd tomb?!" I exclaimed in an exuberant manner most inconsistent with an un-breakfasted Bertie Wooster. "What further use can she have of my broken body and weary mind?" I asked of the spirits as I slumped against the pillow.

"It seems, Sir, that despite our best efforts, Lady Worplesden is still most insistent that you take a wife, despite your having severed ties last week with Olympia Ponsonby-Smyth."

"But you know me, Jeeves. Couldn't possibly do such a horrendous thing, for fear of putting some poor girl through the misery of popping out something as repulsive as young Thos. Gregson. That would be most un-gentlemanly."

"Indeed, Sir."

"Either way I'm in the soup, aren't I Jeeves? Still, no use bemoaning the cards life deals us. The green and purple neckerchief, I think, shall boost my spirits unequivocally."

I did not miss the grimace Jeeves performed and tried to hide beneath a smooth-ish visage as he ankled away.

"The neckerchief, Jeeves," I cried, leaping forth from the bed like a scalded frog. "I don't care what you say, it is dashing and all the rage in New York!" I stuttered as I rapidly oiled after the man in a somewhat crazed manner, into the room adjoined to the bedchamber which served as a wardrobe, or 'closet' as the American canine-coveter Blumenfield might say.

The closet-room was dark, but I could sense Jeeve's presence nevertheless. People-sensing is a veritable gift passed down from Wooster to Wooster, as well as our inevitable charm and inability to turn away a friend in dire need. All at once, the light-bulb illuminated, and I saw, to my horror, an empty space where the purple and green neckerchief usually took pride of place. For a moment, my heart in my throat, I was about to put Jeeves in the pot of boiling water and leave him there for a good soaking. But then suddenly, I looked Jeeves in the eye, and I have to say, I simply melted. The eyes, a crystalline blue, glistened at me from under sculpted brow, and a wave of calm flooded my mind. A sudden feeling of camaraderie and affection for the old fellow burned within the soul, and as my hand brushed his, I felt immediately at ease, neckerchief or no neckerchief. Aunt Agatha no longer seemed so menacing with such a bally good man firmly planted by my side.

"Dash it Jeeves, we're going to get through this together," I exclaimed vehemently.

"Indeed sir" he said, his eyes a-twinkling.

And, side by side, we shimmered leisurely and at long last out of the closet.


End file.
